


Dark Angel: Dathomir (Part V of The Chronicles of House Vader)

by IvyLeigh



Series: The Chronicles of House Vader [6]
Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, F/M, SCAR Squadron - Freeform, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 08:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyLeigh/pseuds/IvyLeigh
Summary: Darth Vader has sent his betrothed, the Baroness Lylla Sa'thraxxx, to Dathomir to capture six Nightsisters to serve as her personal guard. Sergeant Kreel and SCAR Squadron have been tasked to protect her on her mission. But is she truly the one who needs protecting?





	Dark Angel: Dathomir (Part V of The Chronicles of House Vader)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Dathomir. Where all hell breaks loose.
> 
> Yes, it has been six months. It's taken me that long to research, outline, and write this beast of a fic. Many warm thanks to all my readers for sticking with me!!
> 
> A brief bibliography:
> 
> I have borrowed heavily from the Marvel Comics and The Clone Wars for this installment. If you aren't familiar with either, these are the sources I have researched:
> 
> The Clone Wars: The Nightsister Trilogy:  
> S3 EP12 Nightsisters  
> S3 EP13 Monster  
> S3 EP14 Witches of the Mist
> 
> S4 EP19 Massacre
> 
> Marvel Comics: Sergeant Kreel and SCAR Squadron
> 
> Star Wars 9: Showdown on the Smuggler's Moon, Part II (First mentioned as the gamemaster)  
> Star Wars 10: Showdown on the Smuggler's Moon, Part III (First appearance, as the gamemaster)  
> Star Wars 11: Showdown on the Smuggler's Moon, Part IV (First identified as Agent 5241)  
> Star Wars 12: Showdown on the Smuggler's Moon, Part V (First identified as Kreel)  
> Star Wars 19: Rebel Jail, Part IV  
> Star Wars 21: The Last Flight of the Harbinger, Part I  
> Star Wars 22: The Last Flight of the Harbinger, Part II (Mentioned only; in the opening crawl)  
> Star Wars 23: The Last Flight of the Harbinger, Part III  
> Star Wars 24: The Last Flight of the Harbinger, Part IV  
> Star Wars 25: The Last Flight of the Harbinger, Part V
> 
> Other Research Texts:
> 
> The Book of Sith, Nightsister Chapter
> 
> In addition, the Dark Angel: Dathomir Playlist:
> 
> Nina Hagen-- Antiworld https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTR4rnJkY_I
> 
> Peter Gabriel-- The Feeling Begins https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTAaKAVpOOM
> 
> Ramin Djawadi-- Game of Thrones score, The Army of the Dead https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeYNHwRswYU

Dathomir

“Mutta Raain.”

Fourteen seasons since she was named Mutta --Mother-- by the Night Clan, and it still rattled Raain to hear it. She was no Mutta, not like Mutta Talzin was; she was barely even a woman. She had never carried, even at the age of twenty-two. She should have taken a maleling to her bed years ago and had several children by now. Not that there weren’t several Nightbrothers who would happily be her unn’maar. Especially the handsome one addressing her now.

The four moons above her, unn’maarae of Dathomir itself, still held her gaze when she responded, “What is it, Skourge?”

The Zabrak male scaled the rocks leading to the cliff edge, where Raain had stood most of the night. “You’ve been here for hours. Everyone sleeps, but you do not.” He came up one more stone and joined her, peering out over the dark, wind-blown ocean. “The dreams again?”

Raain pulled her fur tighter around her shoulders, but remained silent. The ur-spirits had spoken to her in the dreams since she could walk. It was one reason she was made Shaman of the Night Clan. The dreams were her blessing and her plague. Blessing in that her dreams predicted drought and bounty, helping the Clan prepare for both; in that she saw the best matches that would lead to healthy children to repopulate the Tribe after the Massacres; dreams of roving baz nitch for hunting and where best to find schools of burra fish. 

But plague in that she often lived The First Massacre over and over again, even though she hadn’t even been born yet. The nightmares of her remaining Nightsisters, the few who escaped the slaughter and lived to dream about it, infiltrated her sleep. The shriek of flying machines and the blasts of the bombs they dropped, the spirit ichor igniting the red night and raising the dead sisters to battle, the Mechanical Maleling with a living heart whirling swords of blue and green flame, cutting Raain’s mothers down like redweeds. Her head would be filled with his hacking laughter as he plunged one of those swords into Old Daka: With her death came new death for the resurrected witches, and eventually, for the living ones. But there was one that all her sisters now would dream of, the one they called Asajj the Savior. She would see this Nightsister hurriedly gather all the children and sisters with child and ignore their refusals to leave the fight as she pushed them through the escape tunnels with the power of the Spirit itself. Raain was one of those Asajj saved, still growing as she was in her mother’s womb.

But the Second Massacre, only five years later... those dreams were birthed from her own memories, her very first. The Second Massacre was not the death of their people. It was the murder of their knowledge. Of their very magick.

Dreams of him; for the black-robed monolith of metal and rage, his mask breathing the fumes of the Shadow itself, could only be he, the Dead God. Of huge ships, their engines’ roars and fire consuming the air itself. His ghost-soldiers, hundreds of them, descending upon the Temple and tearing it apart inside and out, stealing their artifacts and scrolls, like maggots feeding on the already dying carcass of a culture. Beasts of metal and fire crashing through the Temple, already in ruins. Massive cannons scalding the Temple walls of their ancestors, their wisdom, their spells and lore.

When the Dead God looks her way, her screams for her mother are killed in her throat. He is built from nothing of nature; he is a machine, conjured from heresy and created for death, an abomination in the eyes of the Winged Goddess. The gaping black sockets that serve as his eyes drain her very will to think, to hope. Her relief watching him stalk away is always too short, for then the maggot-soldiers round them up, all of them, in the Nightbrother village square. Her brave mother holds her tight even as she roars curses at the clanking ghosts, even when one of them smashes the butt of his weapon into her skull. Raain clings to her mother as she slumps to the ground, crying, begging her to wake up…

And then the air chokes her tiny throat and burns her eyes. The ghost-soldiers spray her people with a strangling miasma from their weapons. Her limbs stiffen into rock, her eyes bulge open and she can’t close them. Her people’s shouts of terror are suffocated into a silence that mocked death. They still breathed, but barely. Anyone passing by would mistake them for dead. Even Death himself.

And he did, with the towering Dead God at his side-- the god he killed himself, Raain knew somehow. Forced to stare through dry eyes, she watched the small giggling gargoyle lurk through their prone and rigid bodies. He even poked her with his gnarled walking stick, staring down at her with his decrepit yellow eyes. The laugh that came from his withered throat was more terrifying than the hunting call of a ssurian. Raain could only make out a few words of the many in Basic he said at the Dead God…

“Well...my appren...Talzin threat... dead...excellent...Lord Vader…”

He slithered away, but the Dead God stayed, looking down at her. Her child’s mind understood that he had just played a trick on Death, for she was not dead, nor were her Tribe. But now that she was an adult, she now understood why he played that trick-- The Dead God wanted them alive. He was not done with them yet. He was coming back. 

Or someone else for him...

“Mutta?” Raain shook herself from her thoughts and turned to the Nightbrother beside her. He wore a concerned look. “Are you alright?”

She glared at Skourge. “You watch me too much.”

The Nightbrother bowed his horned head, looking down at the ground. “I do,” he murmured. “I… love you, Raain. I want to be your unn’maar. I’ve never made that a secret.” He raised his golden eyes to her violet ones. “Your grief is my grief. I cannot help it.”

Raain took in his face, imprinting on his tattoos, the flecks of slate in his yellow eyes. Her eyes traveled to his shoulders and chest, and down the strong arms she longed to hold her right now. She so wanted to tell him of her dream tonight, one unlike any other she’d ever had before. Where she saw the tall, pale off-worlder with hair like blood splashed on a stone and eyes as white as a rock dragon’s. Where the Fanged God swooped from the skies, flying over Raain to land behind the outlander, spreading his wings and embracing her. And how the woman laughed, throwing back her head, snaking her arms back around his neck, pulling him closer into her until he disappeared into her, her very body absorbing his. Except for his wings, which spread behind her, growing so huge that they blocked out the moons, the very sky…

Dragon’s wings.

“Skourge,” she murmured, stepping closer into him, “the Ar’locck Mutta is coming.”

The Zabrak stiffened as his eyes grew wide. “You’ve seen this? In your dreams?” Raain nodded. He swallowed. “When?”

“I don’t know. But soon.”

Raain watched him turn away, trying to calm himself. When he had, he looked back at her. “What are your orders, Mutta?”

She turned toward the village below them. And set her jaw. “We gather in the morning. If she does what the Dead God did last time, they will send machines to spy on us first. We must be ready this time. I want you to lead the scouting parties.”

Skourge lowered his eyes in respect. “I am honored to have your trust, Mutta.”

“But when they arrive, we will not attack until we know how many there are and where they are going.” Raain drew a deep breath, let it out. “Even if I already know.”

“You mean the Temple City?” Skourge surmised.

“Isn’t that where they always go?” she answered bitterly.

Skourge turned away, engulfed in his own memories of the day the Dead God came. “Why, Raain? Why does she come now, after all this time? First the Mechanical, then the Dead God, and now the Ar’Locck Mutta? What else do we have that they can possibly destroy?”

Raain looked back up into the red-tinged night sky. “I do not know, Skourge. They killed our mothers, and then our magick. Perhaps they come to kill our spirit at long last?”

“That won’t happen!” he growled. “That will never happen! We will fight them! No matter how many, we will never yield!”

She turned back to him, the ferocity in his voice pulling her courage back up from the depths of her despair. She decided then that she would not sleep again that night; she wanted no dreams to steal it away again. But more than that…

As she stepped into him, she whispered, “Skourge, I have one more command.”

He bowed his head. “Anything, Mutta. What is your bidding?”

Raain pulled her furs off her shoulders and let them drop to the ground. “Lie with me,” she whispered.

Skourge gasped as he gazed down at Raain’s naked body. The moons’ light made her dark tattoos glisten against her white skin and shaved scalp, and the pupils of her violet eyes were blown wide. He blinked many times before he could find his voice again. “Mutta,” he rasped, but all words failed him when Raain pulled his body into hers and set her teeth on his throat. When she caressed the bed of his dorsal horn, he shuddered from the sensation that went all the way down to his shaft. He threw his arms around her and crushed her against him. As they tumbled down onto her furs on the ground, Raain fumbled with the skins he wore around his waist and guided him between her thighs.

Her fear of bringing a babe into this ruined world had denied her an unn-maar for too long. She didn’t wince or cry out when Skourge thrust through her hymen, but smiled. Whatever would happen when the sun rose, whether tomorrow or a season from now, she would face it not as a girl, but as a true Mutta of the Nightsisters.

* * * 

Four Weeks Later

The massive electromagnetic clamps of the docking lock deactivated, and the auxiliary repulsors pushed The _Wyvern_ away from the _Executor_ into cold black space. A squadron of TIE Sentinels formed a wide hexagon around her to clear a corridor through the ever constant swarm of fighters, cruisers, and shuttles. Far smaller than the accompanying Star Destroyers and absolutely dwarfed by the _Executor_ , the _Wyvern_ still mirrored them in their wedge shape and their collective majesty as she glided between them. When she reached the far perimeter of the fleet’s formation, her Sentinel escort looped and peeled away in all directions. Her hyperdrive engines fired a nova of blinding white, and the _Wyvern_ pierced the veil of time and space itself. 

Moments later, another ship launched from the _Executor_. But rather than from one of the scores of bays that housed TIES and shuttles, this ship launched from Lord Vader’s personal hangar. 

In the cockpit of his TIE Advanced, Vader primed the hyperdrive and set the coordinates for Dathomir. Once there he would remain in orbit, just outside the range of the _Wyvern_ ’s scanners, tap into SCAR’s com relays, and observe from above. While he would have to shield himself not only from Lylla but from the Force-strong Night Tribe as well, he would be still able to sense her through their bond.

This was Lylla’s faejon. He had meant that when he told her. But that didn't mean he had any intention of letting her do this without his presence. Since she could not use the Force...

 _Oh, but she can, and does, all the time. Just not in the way you are used to, or can even perceive,_ Malgus had told him in his dream. 

Vader pondered those words. Her transformation over the year had been nothing short of preternatural. When he first summoned her to him on the Death Star, she was a desolate, spice-addicted pleasure thrall conscripted by the Empire to pay off a dead man’s debts. Now, Lylla blazed with the deadly radiance of an event horizon. She doled her beauty like an opiate, dumbfounding those in her presence, and wielded her cunning like a dagger. She now spoke more languages than he did. She hunted information and devoured learning, and her intellect now rivaled that of Tarkin’s. She had developed interrogation methods so effective, the ISB adopted several into their curriculum. She was driven to the point of obsession, never satisfied, always pushing herself to know more, have more, be more than a forsaken slave-child from a forgotten world infested with vice and misery. 

The parallels of their origins did not escape him, nor their similar drives because of them. Perhaps that was the will of the Force too.

_She is a magnet, a beacon. The Dark Side doesn’t seduce her._

_She seduces it._

The Dark Side of the Force was with her, always. Whispering into his ear and under his remaining flesh before she even entered the room. Enveloping him even as she enveloped his broken body into her perfect own. And unlike so many who served it, the Dark Side only enhanced her beauty rather than detracted from it. Flawless skin that gleamed pearlescent, hair the colors of rage and night, and eyes as white and hard as diamonds. A beauty chronicled in the Sith lore itself.

Lylla could not use the Force, but she manifested it in her body, her mind, her very essence. Everything she had become lay dormant inside her until that night on the Death Star, when she had first touched the Force through him. If she could transform so greatly from just bonding with one Force-sensitive, what would happen when she set foot onto an entire planet that pulsated with the Dark Side? 

He would intercede if she needed him. But more than that, he wanted to witness firsthand what would happen if she didn’t. 

* * *

Meditation never came easy to Lylla. Brooding was more her style. 

Which was precisely what she’d been doing since she left Omega Hold and came to her cabin. Pacing proved problematic-- even if the _Wyvern_ was to be her personal vessel, it was still a warship, so she had asked her Dark Lord that her cabin be kept military regulation. She now realized that had been a mistake: Pacing its compact perimeter only added to her feeling of caged restlessness. And she couldn’t shake the itch on her back, like the prick of a claw between her shoulder blades. So she planted herself in front of the cabin’s viewport, hands clasped behind her as she stared at the blue and white paroxysm of hyperspace. She had heard talk amongst _Executor_ crew, that looking too long into hyperspace caused madness. If that was indeed true, Lylla found madness to be somewhat comforting. 

She had gone over the plan multiple times in her mind, and in fluent Dathomiri. And yet a thousand things could go wrong: Com relays could fail, they could be completely cut off from the _Wyvern_ with no backup, they could fall to animal attacks or poison plant life or to the very soil itself in the way of sinkholes and tar pits… Lylla grit her teeth. She had already made one mistake. With all the exhaustive preparation, countless hours of data analysis and studying, the Force-binder development and all the physical training, she had forgotten one thing.

“ ‘You do not know the power you carry’,” she growled, repeating Vader’s words to her. She choked out an angry laugh. “Oh yes, I’m so powerful that I forgot to learn how to ride a fucking dewback.” 

She leaned a hand on the transparisteel and dropped her head. She had asked him so many times what he meant by that, and so many times he had never given her a true answer. “If I live through this, my beloved Lord, I swear I will kill you.” 

The ship shuddered up through her feet, and Lylla raised her head to see the frenzy outside calm back into the black void of space. They had arrived. Blowing a hard breath, she dropped her hand from the pane, about to gather her cuirass and don it once again…

Until she looked out at the planet below her. 

The maroon and crimson of the world outside, the colors of a fresh-killed heart, snared her eyes. The itch between her shoulders deepened into a prick in her flesh, and the invisible talon moved up her neck to graze across her scalp. 

_*You came,*_ whispered a thousand voices through her veins. 

“Of course I did,” she whispered back. “You doubted I would?” Her eyelids fluttered when she realized those were the very words she had exchanged with Vader the day they had discovered Skywalker.

The night he told her he would marry her. 

Her lip trembled. “Are you them?” she rasped through rapid breaths. “Are you my angels?”

A percussive onslaught of furious heartbeats assaulted her ears, quiet to deafening, colliding and tumbling over each other, … until they gravitated, syncing their beats into pairs, quartets… seven rhythms, four rhythms, three… Until there were only two: Hers, and one slow, thunderous thump down to her bones. 

Invisible arms, thick and powerful, so much like Vader’s, wrapped around her. Hot breath roared across her ear. The tips of fangs dragged along her neck. _*No, daughter. Just one.*_

Her heart banged against her ribs. Blood surged through her, hardening her nipples and flooding her core. “You?” she rasped through a throat dry as ash. “You...actually exist?” She was answered by a low growl of a laugh that resounded all through her frame. She arched back against the intangible body holding her, and tilted her head to the side, offering her long neck to the teeth set upon it. 

The fangs sank into her flesh down to her bones.

Lylla cried out. But not from pain, for there was none. Because the blackness of space had erupted outside into whirling ribbons of the impossible colors of ultraviolet light. Her eyes locked on the oceans of the planet below that had just been a red rich in iron, but now looked gray. She saw lightning flare in the clouds, but the color was wrong-- not white, but a garish green that convulsed through the vapor. It flashed again. Then again. And again. Lylla realized the lightning struck in perfect sync with the monstrous pulse pounding through her. 

The heartbeat of the planet Dathomir itself. 

Sweat poured through her hair and off her brow. She fought to regain her breath, and every muscle in her quaked with adrenaline.

A palm caressed the sweat from her face. _*Your hunt...is blessed.*_

The arms lifted. The breath in her ear stopped, and the thunderous heartbeat ebbed away. The claws vanished, and Lylla slid down the pane to her knees, panting for air. her eyes still glued to the planet below her.

Captain Granjis’s voice came through the com speakers. “Baroness Sa’thraxxx, we have arrived in orbit.”

“On my way,” she replied in a parched growl. With some difficulty, she rose to her feet on shaking legs, leaning on the viewport to steady herself. A single tear ran down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

And bared her teeth in a triumphant smile. 

* * *

“Imperial Transport _Mace_ , we are seven minutes from landing coordinates. Status?”

“Roger that, Bridge,” Aero answered. “Running pre-flight, loading dewies as we speak.”

“Scanners showing a high-altitude storm system forming right inside target vector. Strong winds and turbulence.”

“Warning confirmed, Bridge. Adjusting pre-flight for it now. Cav, progress?”

Cav’s voice crackled through SCAR’s tac-net, along with the grunts, snorts and occasional squeal of large beasts. “Herding them into the lift now, Bridge. Taking a little longer than usual, pilot-- Nini down, girl, settle down! Kest ‘n Krinnic, they’re jumpy today, that’s for sure.”

“I thought you procured space-trained dewies, Cav,” came the Sergeant’s gruff admonishment.

“I did Sarge, these are veteran pack animals. I dunno what’s gotten into them-- OW! Hutt’s Tits, that was my foot, Rara!!”

“Watch the language, trooper. You’re on speaker.”

“Roger, Bridge, sorry.”

Kreel cracked his neck. “Do you require assistance, Cav?”

“Negative, Sergeant. Everything’s under control.”

“Confirmed. Zuke, Mic, Shrap, Misty?”

“All aboard, Sarge,” came Zuke’s gravelly response. “Mic’s tinkering with the com tech, Shrap’s reloading his flamethrower, and if Misty doesn’t get that kriffin’ barrel away from my head in two seconds--”

“Nice and clean, Zuke, you won’t feel a thing.”

“That what you told your sister last night?”

“I’ll kill ya both and call it a mercy killing. For the rest of us,” Mic groused through the tac-net. 

“Cut the chatter SCAR,” Kreel snarled. “Cargo situation?”

“Binders all powered down and locked down, Sarge. Got ‘em strapped in so good a meteor strike couldn’t shake ‘em,” Aero replied.

“Don’t press our luck, Aero,” Kreel said. He shook his head as he absently palmed the pouch hanging from his belt: The dewbacks weren’t the only ones on edge. “Cav, status?”

Kreel heard the lift hydraulics stop with a loud kerchunk and lock into place over the tac-net. “Dewies loaded, Sarge. Your location?”

“Still out in the hangar. Waiting on the Dragon.”

“The Dragon has landed, Sergeant.”

Kreel whipped around, thrusting his armored hand into the pouch before he stopped himself. Baroness Sa’thraxxx stood several paces behind him, her arms folded over her cuirass, her white eyes peering from under her hood of her wrap. He saw those eyes flick down to the hand in his pouch before coming up to pierce into his own.

He slowly pulled his hand out, and straightened to attention. “Sorry, Baroness. I didn’t hear you.” While he meant it as an apology, it came out as incredulous. 

She took a silent few steps toward him and chuckled. “I’m much quieter than Lord Vader.”

No denying that. Vader made his presence known just from his respirator and the vibrations of his footfalls alone, moments before he actually arrived. “Stealth,” he said. He smirked under his bucket. “You have a natural gift for it, Baroness. It will serve you well down there.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she replied with a nod. “Status?”

“About six minutes before we launch. Cargo and dewbacks loaded, Aero’s running pre-flights.” 

“Good. That gives us a few moments to talk. Walk with me.” Lylla turned on her heel and strolled to her left. Kreel flanked her right. “Sergeant,” she began, watching her own feet take slow steps, ”Have you never wondered why Lord Vader gave this mission to me, rather than lead SCAR Squadron himself?”

“It is not my place to question Lord Vader’s decisions, Baroness,” Kreel replied.

She shot him a smirk over her shoulder. “Pondering your commander's motives is not the same as insubordination, Sergeant.”

“It is to Lord Vader.”

She chuckled again. “You may be right about that.” She stopped, still looking down. “But he could have accomplished this mission easily, and in far less time. So…why give this to me, someone with no field experience, someone who hasn’t even held a blaster in her entire life?” She looked off in the distance, and her voice grew softer. “Be honest with your opinion. I’d rather you were.”

Kreel paused, weighing his words carefully. But the Baroness did insist on honesty… “Yes Baroness, I have wondered why Lord Vader would send his fiancee on such a dangerous mission. But… I don’t believe he would have tasked you with this if he didn’t believe you would succeed. I think he may be testing you, like troops are tested through war games.”

“Oh, I know he’s testing me, Sergeant. Just because I sleep with him doesn’t mean I am exempt from his trials.” She chuckled again when he shifted in his armor from her bluntless. “But I’ve come realize it is more than that. It’s not just to test me, he wants to know once and for all…” that look in her eyes turned into a thousand-parsec stare, “what it is I actually am.” She pulled a breath. “And what I can actually do.” 

Kreel looked back at her and cocked his head. “What you actually are? I don't follow you, Baroness.”

Lylla reached up to her hood. “I don't know if you are aware,” she peeled the cowl back and tilted her chin up to give Kreel a better view, “that I didn't always look like this.” Her lip quirked up. “I used to look...more human.”

True, the Baroness didn’t look like any human he had ever encountered before, with her white eyes and her unusually colored hair, but after weeks of working with her, he had gotten used to the differences. But it was her hair now that made him take a step back. Her hair, which she had just shorn completely off her scalp just hours ago, had grown to halo her head in short, scarlet curls. 

Lylla ran her gloved fingers through it. “You noticed.”

“It… grows that fast?” he breathed through his vocoder. “All the time?”

“All the time. I have to cut it every day, sometimes twice.” She caught his eyes once again with hers, and she grinned. “You thought I wore wigs, didn’t you?”

“I...well, I…” His armored shoulders slumped somewhat. “I’m a soldier, ma’am. I don’t think about...women’s stuff much, but...yeah, I did.” 

Lylla slyly smiled. “Lord Vader was the first Force-user I had ever…” She chose an appropriate word, “encountered. Afterward, my appearance changed and I… did as well.” 

He raised his helmet back up. “What is it you’re telling me, Baroness?”

Lylla stepped toward him and, for a moment, all he could register were those glacial eyes. But then she pulled her wrap off her shoulder and tugged her cuirass as far as she could. Set in her neck were two deep, black, precise bruises. The kind made by an animal bite.

(“Fuck a Gungan,”) Kreel muttered in his slave tongue. “Are you in pain?”

She had to think about that for a moment, and strangely smiled. “No, actually.” 

“What the hell did that, Baroness?” 

Lylla was not about to go into the details of what just happened in her cabin. “The Force.” 

Kreel blew a long-held breath. “The Force did that.”

She nodded. “I cannot do the things Lord Vader can, Kreel. I can’t fight like he can, or move objects or read thoughts. But… I am connected to him. And to the Force through him. I don’t know exactly how I am, nor does he. That’s why he sent me on this mission. To find out how I am.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what will happen down on that planet. But I do know that things may happen that I won’t be able to fully explain. And because of that,” she drew closer to him, “I need you to trust that I will get what we came for and that I will get you and your men out of this ALIVE, like Lord Vader could. Can you do that?” Her eyes narrowed into white points under her black lashes, her voice was a steely rasp. “Because if you can’t, I’ll go down there alone and finish this myself.”

The Sergeant remained quiet. Lylla once again felt the frustration of being stared at through a mask, unable to read the face. Until Kreel said, “With all due respect, Baroness… the hell you will.”

Lylla slit her eyes. “Have you forgotten to whom you speak, Sergeant Kreel?”

“No Baroness Sa’thraxxx, I know exactly who I’m speaking to. My next Empress.” He risked a step into her space and added, “And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to her on my watch.” It was Lylla’s turn to step back, startled by the ferocity in Kreel’s voice. But then, the growl was replaced by a chuckle. “I know why he chose you. You’re as fearless as he is.”

Her eyes fluttered at the compliment, and a breath rushed out of her chest. “Then you trust me?”

He nodded. “I worked undercover in Grakka the Hutt’s operation on Nar Shaddaa. He was a collector of Jedi artifacts.” Lylla watched his hand drift toward the pouch on his belt again, and wondered if he had one those on him right now. “And I’ve worked under Lord Vader for the better part of a decade. I won’t pretend to understand the Force. But I do know that every mission I have done with Lord Vader, every one of us came back alive. Battered, sometimes wounded, but alive. I’ve seen what he can do, the power he holds. If he trusted you enough to lead this mission and if you can tap into that power too… then yes, Baroness. I can trust you.”

“I’m not exactly like Lord Vader, Sergeant.” Her eyes drifted to the side, and Kreel noticed the thousand-parsec look once again. “I am… different.”

Kreel shrugged. “Then maybe you do different things than he does. Now you just got me curious.” Lylla slid her eyes back to him, and arched an eyebrow. He realized both his tone and posture had become far too comfortable with his immediate commander-- and the betrothed of his Supreme Commander at that-- and straightened to attention. “Whatever your orders are Baroness, SCAR will stand behind you all the way.”

“Including Shrap?” she asked, brow still elegantly hiked. “I believe he has all but confirmed his mistrust of the Force.”

“Shrap will get in kriffin’ line, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Yes,” Lylla growled, “there bloody well will be.” She stared into his helmet’s lenses once more, and they both fell into a silent moment.

“Well,” Kreel said, breaking the silence. He gestured to the transport. Lylla nodded, and they both stepped toward the transport. He tapped the tac-net on his helmet. “Aero, the Baroness is here. Ready to board.”

“Ramp coming down now, Sarge,” Aero replied. The hangar was soon filled with the grind and squeals of massive gears as a hinged panel of the fuselage facing them folded open and straightened down into a ramp.

“Baroness,” Kreel said as they walked, “have you ever been on an IDT before?” Apparently not, since she glanced at him with a knit brow. “Imperial Dropship Transport.”

“No Sergeant,” she exhaled, “I can’t say I have.”

“Well, fair warning, they aren’t built for luxury like shuttles are. And with the dewbacks taking up most of the space, we’ll have to use the jump seats, so it won’t exactly be comfortable, either.” 

“I think I’ll manage.” 

“Bridge is reporting a storm system developing right inside our trajectory. It’ll get bumpy, so strap in well.”

“Do you intend to fuss over me like this throughout this entire mission, Sergeant?” Lylla quipped.

“Despite everything you just told me, you’re still my charge, Baroness,” Kreel answered as they stepped up the ramp. “So yes.” Lylla merely threw him a glancing smirk as they entered the hold. Before Kreel could get the “hut” out in “ATTEN-HUT”, all members of SCAR Squadron snapped out of their jump seats to attention. Their boot stomps ricocheted throughout the durasteel hold. 

Misty and Shrap had their helmets on, Zuke and Mic held theirs. Lylla looked around the transport’s hold. It was, indeed, bare bones-- struts, panels, and rivets. She saw the pallets holding the Force-binders webbed against the walls, and their packs strapped to the ceiling. with webbing. Her scan was interrupted by a muffled roar and a loud THUD behind the separation wall.

Kreel irritably tapped his tac-net. “Cav, they still acting up?”

With her brow furrowed, Lylla stepped toward the noises coming from the wall.

“Affirmative Sarge,” Cav replied through his ear. “Still trying to calm ‘em down.”

As she grew closer, the dewbacks’ snorts and growls became louder.

Kreel marched through the hold to the hatch of the cockpit. “Aero, gonna need a blast of seda-gas through the back hold.” 

“Right, Sarge.” In the pilot’s seat, Aero reached to a switch above his head. “Level?”

Lylla raised her hand as she approached the wall.

“Fifteen percent. We want ‘em sedate, not out.”

She touched it. 

A loud BASH hit from the other side along with a screeching, terrified roar. Lylla immediately backed away. The other troops of SCAR grabbed and raised their blasters at the wall. Cav’s panicked voice came through through the tac-net. “Kest n’ Krinnic, Nini, down, down! SARGE!” 

“Flood the hold with gas Aero, NOW!” Kreel barked. He barged back through the hold. “Cav, get outta there! SCAR, set blasters on stun!”

The small hatch at the far end of the wall flew open, and Cav stumbled through it. A mist of white gas and the unmuffled screams of the animal blasted through the door before Cav heaved his whole weight against it, slamming it closed. 

“What the FUCK??” Shrap exclaimed.

“Cav!” Kreel yelled. “You ok?”

Cav collapsed against the hatch, panting through his helmet. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, Sarge.” He glanced over his shoulder back at the door. The animal’s screams lessened into a low, dopey growl, followed by the soft THUD of massive bodies hitting the floor.

Kreel turned back to the cockpit and shouted, “Aero, kill the gas, now! That’s enough, they’re down.”

“Got it, Sarge, shutting down now.”

Kreel’s slave language came out of his helmet like a blaster set on auto. (“What the hell is wrong with those animals, Cav?”)

“I dunno, Sarge,” Cav panted. “I’ve used Nini before, I requested her! She’s never acted like this before!”

“You mean it’s just the one acting like this?” Lylla asked.

Cav turned her way. “Yes, Baroness. They’re all riled up, but that was Nini who panicked.”

“Whose mount is that?” Kreel demanded. Cav hesitated. “WHOSE?”

Cav nodded Lylla’s direction. “Hers.”

Lylla felt the weight of all their eyes land on her. Shrap burst forward and pointed at her. “It was her. She put her hand on the wall, and that dewie freaked out!”

“SHRAP!” Kreel barked.

A cold violence seeped into Lylla’s chest. She’d said there would be hell to pay. Slowly, she turned away from them.

“Come on Shrap,” Mic breathed, “settle down.”

She bent down and reached into her boot. 

“And what’s with her hair??” Shrap yelled, his lips curled back in a scared snarl. “She just shaved it off, in front of us! You all saw it! And now look at it!” 

“Shrap, man, easy,” Zuke growled, coming toward him.

Shrap backed away from him. “We’re gonna die down there! That--” he pointed at Lylla again-- “WITCH is gonna get us all killed!”

_Show them the Dragon._

Misty and Zuke lunged out of the way when Lylla bolted across the hold. She threw her weight into Shrap, his armor crashing against the bulkhead, and jammed her arm against Shrap’s throat. Her free hand jabbed a vibroblade up and under his helmet, right into his adam’s apple.

Kreel was on his men before they could even think. “Leave it alone, boys,” he growled as he stepped into them, backing them away. He leaned in. (“If it was Vader, he’d be dead already.”) 

They fell back. Zuke nodded. “She’s got this, Sarge.”

Lylla leaned into Shrap’s mask, pressing her forearm even further into his throat. “Lord Vader told me to inform him of the slightest inference of insubordination.” A twisted smile curled her lips. “I’d say this is a little more than slight, wouldn’t you?” Shrap sucked a breath when she pushed the blade in further. “I am no witch, trooper. But I am an Imperial Interrogator. And I could hurt you in ways you’ve never even imagined in the darkest depths of your nightmares.” Her white eyes choked his lenses, and a string of saliva fell from her lip as she twisted the tip of the blade into his skin. “Now. Are you going to be a good little soldier, or do I ask your Supreme Commander to hand you over to me as a test subject for new...procedures?” Her voice dropped to an acidic whisper. “Because I am confident he would agree that would be a fitting reprimand.”

Shrap’s breaths pounded against her arm. He gaped at his squad, who all stood well behind her. He collapsed against the bulkhead when he saw Zuke scowl and shake his head. “Oh gods,” he rasped, “Baroness. I… I don’t know what…” Came over him. What to say. There was no proper penitence for what he had just done. Save for one. “Baroness, I have committed insurrection. You have every right to execute me where I stand.” 

He was begging her to do it; well, after that threat, even Lylla couldn’t blame him. Still holding him against the wall, Lylla turned over her shoulder to look at Kreel. “Sergeant, who here is best capable to take over Shrap’s duties?”

Kreel lowered his head and sighed through his helmet. “Zuke can handle explosives. Mic can take over the flamethrower.” He turned to them. “Right, boys?”

“Affirmative,” grunted Mic.

“No problem, Sarge,” Zuke said, looking away.

Kreel turned back to Lylla. “We’re covered, Baroness.” He straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “Do what you need to do.”

Lylla nodded, then turned back to Shrap. “Remove your helmet.” Shrap reached up, pulling his helmet off. He dropped it to the floor. Pulling a deep breath, he closed his hazel eyes and tilted his head back, readying himself for the Baroness’s justice. Very slowly, she lowered the blade from his throat, dropped her forearm and backed away. Shrap stayed as he was, unmoving with his eyes closed. So he never saw Lylla close her fist, swing around and backhand a leaded glove across his jaw. 

Shrap spun off the wall and crashed to the floor. Lylla was on him like a farlus hawk. She rammed her foot in his chest and stomped him flat onto his back. With her nostrils flared and her hair splayed around her head, Shrap swore he was looking up at a Gallian cobra.

She pointed her blade. “Remember this mercy I bestowed upon you, soldier,” she intoned through her teeth, “because you’ll never receive another.”

Shrap panted wildly under her boot, his shaking hands raised to his shoulders. After a few frantic breaths, he closed his eyes. And nodded. 

Lylla slowly turned to Kreel and the others, who all stood stunned and gaping at the scene. “Listen to me very carefully,” she said, her voice hollow as a winter wind. “That planet down there is affecting us all. The dewbacks feel it.” She stared them all down. “And you feel it, as Force-blind as you are. Fear, anger, violence. It’s feeding you...and it’s feeding off you.”

The troopers all glanced at each other, their collective tension clear in their postures. Mic dared to ask, “Then what do we do?”

“Keep your heads on straight, do everything I say and don’t question any of it.” She slit her eyes at him. “Got it?”

“I got it,” gruffed Zuke. He turned his amber eyes to Misty. “You got it?”

“Loud and clear,” Misty replied.

Mic sniffed. “Got it.”

Lylla looked to Kreel, who only nodded. Slowly, she lifted her foot off Shrap’s chest and stepped off him. He pushed himself onto his elbows, still breathing hard, fear still twisting his face. Lylla sighed, then offered him her hand. The mutual relief of all members of SCAR was palpable throughout the hold. 

Shrap eyed her hand, shame and dread still heavy in his features, before taking it and was once again impressed by her strength as she pulled him up to his feet. Avoiding her eyes, he muttered, “Baroness. Your mercy…” he swallowed hard, “I’ll never forget it.” 

Lylla nodded, placed a slender hand on his cheek… and slapped him hard across same spot she’d just hit him. Ignoring his loud pained grunt, she spun around and walked away from him. “Sergeant!” she barked. “Status?”

“Aero!” Kreel shouted through the cockpit hatch. 

Aero leaned over in his seat, sticking his helmeted head through the hatch. “Storm’s picking up, but Bridge cleared us for takeoff.”

“Well then,” Lylla announced, passing her frosty glare over them before landing it on Shrap, “I’d like to dispense with all this fuckery and get on with it!” 

“You heard the Baroness!” Kreel growled. “Buckets on and asses down! We’re moving out!”

The hold was filled with armor clanking and bangs of jump seats being pulled out of the bulkhead. Zuke stopped before he passed Shrap, giving him a good stink eye before he plunged his helmet onto his head. “If she hadn’t clocked ya’, I was gonna do it myself,” he muttered through his vocoder.

“Yeah,” Shrap grunted. 

“Idiot,” Misty hissed on his way to his jumpseat.

Cav sidled up to Shrap. “You ok?” Shrap threw him a glance and a tired nod. Cav put his hand on his shoulder. “I feel it too, Shrap. But the Sarge trusts her, so trust the Sarge. He hasn’t let us down us yet.”

“What about the dewies?” Shrap muttered. “Can we trust them down there?”

Cav looked over his shoulder back at the separating wall, and patted the piece at his hip. “You think I don’t carry a tranq gun on me when I handle these girls?”

Shrap wearily grinned. “And here I thought you had some kind of magical farmboy touch.”

“Break it up you two!” Kreel barked. “Strap in!” Shrap pulled his helmet on and followed Cav to their seats. He turned to Lylla. “Ma’am.” He gestured to a seat between Zuke and Mic across the hold.

Lylla measured the proximity of the seat to the separating wall. “I think it best I take a seat furthest from the dewbacks, Sergeant,” she said.

He nodded. “Misty, trade off.” Misty got up from his seat and crossed to the other, nodding Lylla a salute as he passed. Lylla moved to the jump seat flush with the wall of the cockpit, the one next to Cav and Shrap’s seats. 

She pulled one strap over herself, then another, when she glanced up to see Kreel watching her. That ubiquitous arched brow returned. “Yes, Sergeant?”

“That was... impressive,” Kreel said. He glanced over his shoulder at his men, then lowered his voice. “I didn’t know you could move that fast.”

Lylla slowly grinned. “Neither did I.” Kreel huffed a chuckle, but it died on his breath when he saw the pupils of her white eyes shrink and lengthen into black slits like a reptile’s.

Like a dragon’s.

Yeah, maybe it should’ve spooked him like Shrap. But after the fighting pits of Chagar IX and Nar Shaddaa and working for Vader all these years, nothing in this life shook Kreel much anymore. Maybe there was some shape-shifting Clawdite gene in her somewhere down the line. Or maybe she was just unique and ferocious and staggering…

He abruptly looked away when he realized that he was staring at her. “Strap in tight, Baroness. Turbulence is bound to get bad.” Before she could respond, Kreel barged through the cockpit hatch and into the co-pilot’s seat. 

It had frustrated her when she couldn’t see Kreel’s face behind his helmet before. But Lylla didn’t need to see it to know the way he looked at her just now. Her eyelids fluttered as she pondered it. 

Her thought was interrupted by the roar of the _Mace_ ’s engines igniting. The webbing clasped above them rattled and the bulkhead rumbled through her back. Lylla hadn’t traveled in any small craft other than Vader’s personal shuttle for the last year, which was heavily modified with multiple stabilizers for a smooth ride: THIS was definitely not going to be smooth. She forced a long breath in through her nose when she heard the air outside being sucked out the bay. Obviously, no sound-dampeners installed here either. 

“Baroness!” Zuke yelled over the din. “You’re gonna wanna use the auxiliary belts for this drop!” He pointed over her head. “The ones above you! Pull ‘em down, click at the crotch!” Mic gave him a rough shove. Zuke haplessly shrugged and added, “Respectfully, ma’am!” 

When she felt the repulsors fire and the ship lift up, she hurriedly followed Zuke’s advice. 

The transport drifted into the vacuum. Once cleared, Aero hit the engines. The _Mace_ erupted forward into cold space and arced down toward the crimson planet below them. Even belted in, Lylla was thrown against the wall at her shoulder, and clutched at the straps above her to steady herself.

“Sorry Baroness!” Cav yelled over blaring engines and the equipment knocking against the bulkhead. “IDTs are built for short-range drops for grunts! The armor plating takes up most of the weight limits, so shavit like stabilizers and dampeners are expendable!” 

Lylla nodded tightly as her stomach rolled under her ribs. 

“Aw, this ain’t nothin’!” Zuke shouted. “Wait till we hit that storm, oo’rae unka, that’s gonna be a five-credit ride!”

She swallowed hard and clenched her eyes shut.

Zuke leaned over in his seat. “Hey Misty!” he yelled over the the SCAR sniper, “ ‘member our first drop, over Mimban?”

“Never gonna ferget it, Zuke!” Misty yelled back. “Our first mission straight out of the Academy!”

Zuke slapped his knee. “Oh brother, what were there, a hunnerd of us?? All packed in that IDT like gruuda fish!”

Gruuda fish. A species native to Fellenet, mass-fished and packed into canisters sold throughout the galaxy. The smell triggered the in her mind, of the gruuda’s putrid guts streaming through the streets of Holirtown from the cannery, baking in the sun when there was a rare break in the clouds…

The _Mace_ hit the upper levels of the atmosphere. The roar of atmosphere burning against the hull filled the hold, and the _Mace_ lurched twenty-five degrees. Lylla was thrown against the bulkhead once again.

“We just hit the upper levels of the storm!” Aero bellowed from the pilot’s seat. His hands flew over the controls. “Sarge, hit the starboard repulsor! Level us out!”

“On it, Aero!” Just as he did, Kreel shot of look at Lylla over his shoulder. Even through his lenses, he saw that she’d gone completely pale. “Baroness, you ok?!” Lylla rolled her head toward him and nodded. Weakly. “Just hang in there! It’ll only be a few minutes!” Even while she nodded again, her blistering glare clearly indicated that she was NOT enjoying this.

Completely oblivious to the ship’s crazy tossing and the Baroness’s ever-mounting motion sickness, Zuke kept laughing and yelling over the noise. “Half of us were green, first drop ever! Man, we hit that storm system like a shockball in a net!”

“No kidding, right?” Misty yelled back. “Grunts were dropping like sacks of shavit all around us!”

Cold sweat dripped out of her hair.

“Hey Baroness!” Zuke leaned toward Lylla across the hold. “You ever hear fifty guys yakkin’ their ration bars up in their buckets? Funniest thing you ever heard!”

Her eyes rolled into her head when the ship hit another air-berg and careened upwards just to drop a score of meters again, lifting her out of her seat before she was slammed back down. 

“And the smell? WHEW! You wanna talk about puke! I never lost my lunch like that in my life, not even after a bender--”

“SOLDIER, IF U HAGWA SHUT DA FUCKING CUNT OF DO MOUTH ALTEEMA, MEE’M KOONA TAH CUT OVV DO BALLS UM FEED HOOAH TAH THOSE FUCKING DEWBACKS!!” Lylla roared in a nausea-wracked tirade of Basic and Huttese. That outburst proved to be unwise however, because that was all it took for everything in Lylla’s stomach to hurl itself up her esophagus. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

“BAG!” Kreel bellowed from the cockpit. “Anyone got a bag??”

Watching her fold over as far as her belts would allow, Shrap scrambled through his utility belt. “Hang on to it, Baroness, don’t let it go yet!” He pulled something out of his belt and thrust it over Cav’s lap toward her. “Here, take it! HERE!”

Thankfully, she managed to look up. Shrap was holding a small bag made of flimsi in his hand. With just nanoseconds to spare, Lylla grabbed the bag from his hand, brought it to her mouth, and violently heaved the remnants of her last meal into it. She wretched again, then again, before every drop had vacated her stomach. Dropping the bag, she threw herself upright again, panting wildly and sputtering.

She dragged her vision across the hold at the five troopers leaning over in their seats, all staring at her. As her stomach sank back down, so did her spirit: this weakness had completely obliterated her show of power earlier with Shrap. _Karkin’ wermo_ , she cursed at herself in Huttese. Disgust stabbed into her already churning gut.

She could see Kreel looking at her from the cockpit, straps half-undone in his seat, reared up to come to her aid. But then, he laughed. Loudly and heartily. “Congratulations, Baroness! You’ve just been baptised into the Corps! Every stormtrooper chucks their rations on their first drop!!”

Lylla glared at the Sergeant, still fighting to catch her breath… until her face cracked into a wide, wicked grin and she let out a deep, hacking laugh herself. Even as the ship still rocked and shook, she ran her sleeve across her wet mouth and bellowed through the din, “You bucketheads are a sick fucking breed, you know that?” The racket from outside the hull was only slightly dampened by the snorts of relieved laughter from the troopers filling the hold. 

“Yer lucky Shrap had a barf bag on him!” Mic shouted. “After a couple hundred drops, we don’t carry ‘em much anymore!”

“Good thing I didn’t kill him then,” Lylla mumbled to herself.

“You’re alright, Baroness!” Zuke boomed. “You swear prettier than a drill sergeant!”

“It’s nice to be able to again.”

“Lord Vader doesn’t like it when you cuss either, huh?” Cav asked. Lylla grinned weakly and shook her head. “Yeah, he’s real fussy about that.” He handed her a canteen. She went to take it, but then eyed Cav suspiciously. He shook his head. “No hooch, only water, ma’am. Promise.” She took the canteen with a nod and brought it to her lips, downing the water like she hadn’t drank anything in days. When she handed it back to Cav, he jerked his head to his other side. “It’s Shrap’s.”

Lylla leaned to look over Cav at Shrap, who returned her stare with a bowed head. Even through his opaque lenses, Shrap felt that white glare all the way down his spine. But before he could look away, Lylla thrust the canteen back at him. “My thanks,” she muttered. Shrap took it back with a silent nod.

The _Mace_ lurched to the port side once more, then leveled out. Lylla looked up and around, listening intently to the winds outside, which had died down significantly. Aero leaned through the cockpit hatch. “Looks like we made it through the worst of it, Baroness! Should be smooth flying now!” 

Indeed, the turbulence had notably subsided. Lylla breathed a sigh of relief… until she saw the flashes of lightning come through the cockpit hatch: Green lightning. She glanced at the troops. They seemed to take no notice of it whatsoever. Quickly, she began undoing her straps.

“Baroness,” Cav said, “you wanna stay strapped in until we land--”

“I have to talk to the Sergeant,” she snapped, unlatching the last one and hauling herself out of her seat. She gripped the struts as she lunged into cockpit and over Kreel. “Sergeant,” she said close to his helmet, finding a volume that he could hear over the noise but Aero couldn’t, “what… color would you say that lightning is?”

Kreel sat silent for a moment before he motioned her to lean in more. “What lightning, ma’am?” 

Lylla blinked a few times, her mouth agape, before she turned to look into his lenses. He lowered his voice even more. “Does this fall into the ‘not easily explained’ category?” She nodded. “Noted,” he said, returning his focus back to the controls.

Lylla looked up and out the viewshield, watching the green flashes turn into ragged ribbons that swirled in and through the red clouds. A thump resonated through her frame, followed by another, then another. The heartbeat was back, as were the claws that stroked through her hair.

_*Waited so long for you,*_ hissed the sultry breath in her ear. 

She swallowed hard. “Careful, darling,” Lylla breathed, trying to ignore the volts shooting through her flesh. “We’ve only just met.”

“You say something, ma’am?” Aero asked. Lylla merely shook her head as the presence enveloped her in invisible arms from behind. 

_*Look,*_ the whisper said. 

The _Mace_ cleared the crimson clouds. Even held in that fierce embrace, she kneed her way between Aero and Kreel and laid her hands on the viewshield. The oceans churned red and furious below her, foam caps strobing past her vision as the craft descended to soar above them. And just under the surface, Lylla thought she saw a huge dark creature swim with them, matching their speed, impossible for any organic to do--

Until it glowed blazing green, igniting the waves around it.

My gods, Her breathing quickened as her eyes bulged. It’s real. The spirit ichor of Dathomir. That’s what I’m seeing. It’s real.

_*Yes, child. And It’s welcoming you.*_

There had been a witch here, a powerful Dark Side user by the name of Mother Talzin. It was in her writings where Lylla learned of the spirit ichor; the raw essence of the Living Force itself, fueled by the life that glutted the planet’s surface and oceans. And she was seeing it with her own eyes.

_*Follow it.*_

“Aero,” Lylla blurted, “follow--” she glitched when she remembered no one could see it but her, “my directions. Keep going forward.”

“But,” Aero said, “the drop point is to the west. We’ll be veering that direction in one minute--”

“Follow that order, pilot,” Kreel snarled. He exchanged a glance and a nod with Lylla.

Aero nodded. “Yes, Sarge.” He blew a breath. “I’m gonna have to report the change to bridge.”

“Do it,” Lylla said, never taking her eyes off the incandescent leviathan below them.

He flicked the com. “ _Mace_ to _Wyvern_. We are changing our heading, due north, Baroness’s orders.”

“Copy that, _Mace_ ,” came the bridge response. “Coordinates?”

Aero glanced at Lylla, who kept her eyes pasted on the waters below her. “Undetermined. Stand by.”

The green ichor below raced ahead of them, and Lylla followed it with her eyes until she saw land quickly approaching. She watched the glowing bulk smash into the beach and spread wide across the red dust plain to disappear over the duned horizon.

She pointed. “There, that beach. That’s where we land.”

Aero flicked the com. “ _Mace_ to _Wyvern_. We are about seven degrees north of original drop site. Coming in for a landing.”

“Acknowledged, _Mace_. Any sign of hostiles?”

Kreel clicked the zoom cams. A holographic scan of the beach bloomed across the viewport. “Negative, _Wyvern_. All clear.”

“Proceed.”

“Ma’am, you might wanna strap in again, “ Aero suggested. Lylla didn’t move, but just stared at the oncoming beach. He waited a moment. “Ma’am?”

“I heard you the first time, pilot,” she growled, never moving a muscle.

Aero shot a look at Kreel, who muttered, “Just land her pretty, Aero.”

“Yes, Sarge,” Aero said. As he piloted their descent, he hoped they wouldn’t hit another air current; he didn’t need the Baroness puking all over his cockpit. 

“I have nothing left in my stomach, don’t worry,” Lylla said. She finally slid her eyes from the port his way. “And no, I didn’t read your mind. I’d just be thinking the same thing.”

Aero was glad she couldn’t see the smirk under his helmet. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Lylla held onto the support handles above her head. The red waves frothed and roiled below them as they sped toward the land. Aero hit the brake repulsors until the craft hovered just over the shoreline, then pulled the yoke down. The _Mace_ descended, and Lylla felt the landing gear unlock and extend beneath the cockpit deck. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle tightly until the craft landed with just a touch of a bounce.

Aero cocked his head toward her. “How was that, Baroness?”

She looked down and shot him an approving grin. “Pretty enough, pilot.” Just then, she felt the strong ethereal arms holding her slip away and, for a second, found herself irrationally aching for them. 

_*Do not fear,*_ the voice breathed through her flesh, _*I am with you.*_

She nodded, then turned toward the hatch. “Gentlemen, the hold.” She barged through the hatch back into the hold. The rest of SCAR had already unbelted themselves from their seats and were on their feet, gathering their packs, weapons, and unlatching equipment from the crash webbing.

Kreel came out and flanked her right. “Cav, dewie status?”

Cav tapped his tac-net and looked over his shoulder. “I’m hearing some rustling in there, they’re coming around. I can hit ‘em up with a few hundred cc’s of dipill, keep ‘em calm.”

“Do it. Aero,” he looked over his shoulder. “What’s our location?”

“We’re a half-day’s ride farther than the original drop point,” Aero said, scanning the holomap. He clicked it off and joined them. “That means a camp.”

Kreel turned back to Lylla. “We didn’t plan for a camp, Baroness.” He worked his jaw under his helm. 

Lylla clenched her eyes. They’d planned everything around getting in and getting out while the sun was up. Dathomir was dangerous enough in broad daylight; night brought many more threats. Nonetheless, she said to the troops, “We’re equipped with, what, three days worth of rations and gear, are we not? We may not have planned it, but that’s what we’re doing.” She turned into Kreel and lowered her voice. “Sergeant, there’s a reason.” The Sergeant paused, then nodded. 

“Hey, gives us a chance to try the local cuisine,” said Misty, hoisting his rifle and giving it an affectionate pat. 

“Mic,” Kreel said, “You got files on the wildlife?”

“Categorized by genus, species, threat level.”

“Good. Patch ‘em into everyone’s helmet chip. Especially high threat-level nocturnals. Plants and animals both.”

“On it.” Mic’s finger’s flew over the controls of his digital gauntlet. “Done.”

“You see a critter,” Kreel addressed the rest, “you target it in your lenses and identify it before you start shootin’ up the place. Got it?”

“Yes, Sarge,” they all replied in unison.

Kreel turned to Lylla. “Baroness, the floor is yours.” But Lylla didn’t move nor speak. She just stared at a point on the floor, like she was seeing through it. He waited for a moment, but was still met with silence. “Baroness?”

“Bring up the map,” she finally blurted. “Everything within a two-day travel on dewback.”

“Yes, ma’am. Aero.” Aero stepped forward into the circle and switched the HUD display on, bathing the hold in vermillion illumination. Lylla stepped into the map, narrowed eyes scanning its terrain and landmarks. The only sound in the hold was the groans of the awakening dewbacks from behind the separating wall.

Finally, she pointed to an elevated spot in the map. “There. That’s where we’re going.”

The SCAR troops all took a step forward to peruse the spot as well. Kreel took one look, then cleared his throat. “Baroness, a word in private?”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it front of of the men, Sergeant,” Lylla practically growled.

“Very well,” he responded with equal edge, “the plan was that we would go to the Nightbrother village, then hail the _Wyvern_ to send Barrage Company down. Those,” he pointed at the spot on the map, “are the ruins of the Nightsister Temple.”

“That they are,” Lylla replied quietly. 

Which only added to Kreel’s unease. “Permission to ask why we’re going there instead, Baroness?”

“Because Sergeant, gentlemen,” she said, “Dathomir told us to.” She could almost hear them blinking at her, and before any of them could even think “What the hell does she mean by that”, she pointed to the Nightsister temple on the map. “And now I know why. While it still means an overnight camp, our proximity is closer to the Temple than the village. The Force wants us to go there. I’m not about to argue with it.” Only then did her tone darken. “I suggest you don’t either.” 

The troopers all glanced at each other, then at Kreel. Still staring at the map, he nodded. “Then we go there.” He turned to Lylla. “Any further instructions, Baroness?”

She set her hands on her hips. “Even if our destination has changed, our mission has not. We are not here to kill the Dathomiri, we are here to draw them out. The data collected by the probe drones indicate there are no more than thirty Night Clan in all, but thirty still outnumbers seven. The fact that they are Force-wielders doesn’t put the odds in our favor. Therefore, unless we are explicitly threatened, NO armed conflict of any kind. That’s what Barrage Company is for. Understood?”

“Yes Baroness,” SCAR responded in unison.

Lylla flicked her head toward Kreel. “Sergeant, proceed.”

Kreel immediately began barking orders and was obeyed with clamorous activity. “Alright SCAR, move out! Aero, open the ramps and unload the binders. Mic, get those com relays launched and assist Aero with the binder tech. Zuke, assist Cav unloading the dewies and tacking ‘em up. Misty, you’re on point-- keep watch as we load the mounts. And Shrap,” he jerked his head at the Baroness’s empty seat, “pick up that puke.” 

Shrap followed the order, sorely aware that he had just earned the status of Sarge's Bitch for the duration of the mission. But he was still walking and talking. He’d suck it up.

“Shrap!” Kreel barked. Shrap rose and twisted his way, sopping bag in hand. Kreel cocked his head toward the hatch. “You’re perimeter. Twenty meter radius.”

A smile tugged underneath Shrap’s bucket. “Yes, Sarge!” 

The ramp opened.The troopers pounded down, armored boots on durasteel. Misty grabbed a ladder rung on the hull and swung up, landing on the roof and slinging his E-11s sniper rifle into his hold, surveying the beachhead through the scope. 

Before they hit dirt, Aero turned to Mic and muttered, “You think the planet’s really talkin’ to her?”

“You seen her hair?” Mic muttered back. “Maybe Shrap is right, maybe she is a witch.” He shrugged. “Still hot, though.” Aero guffawed as they set upon their tasks with ruthless efficiency.

Kreel stepped into the hatch, looking out at the rust-dull sandy landscape. He was about to go down the ramp when he noticed he was alone. “Baroness?” She hadn’t moved from her spot, staring at the open hatch. Her breathing had picked up, and she wore just the vaguest tint of apprehension around her eyes. Kreel tapped his tac-net. “Misty, report.”

“Whole lotta nothing, Sarge. Terrain over the dunes turns into plains extending past horizon. No sign of hostiles or animal life, just a bunch of boulders scattered around.”

“Keep your eye peeled. Kreel out.” He turned back to Lylla. “There’s nothing out there, Baroness. It’s ok.”

“Tell me what _you_ see, Sergeant,” Lylla murmured, wrapping her arms across herself.

He looked out. “Beach, sand, sky. Patches of seagrass, dunes about fifty meters out.” Lylla slowly came toward him. She came to his side in the hatch, and sucked a harsh gasp as she looked out. 

She saw the grasses, and heard their moans as their cells slowly died from the ocean salt. She saw a grain of sand shift less than a hair’s width, caused by Dathomir’s molten mantle expunging an air bubble the size of the _Executor_ miles beneath them. And the sky… in broad daylight, every star in their arm of the galaxy blazed through the crimson sky. When she looked up at Dathomir’s four moons, she could see the spectral colors of their mineral deposits.

Kreel turned into her and whispered, “You see more, don’t you?”

“You could say that.” The spirit ichor danced in threads and wisps, entwining like lovers, then attacking like serpents. When she looked at the SCAR troopers going about their tasks, waves of living energy splashed around them and hurled into each other. The pungent air was glutted with the exhalations of every living thing on Dathomir. Every corpuscle, every cell in her body sang.

“Gods and hells,” she gasped. “Is this what he feels? What he sees?” Her head fell back and her eyes clenched in rapture as she blew a shivered breath. “Oh Beloved, I am beginning to understand…I can feel it...” 

Her eyes fluttered open as she straightened up and collected herself. She shot Kreel an edgy glance. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he replied, shifting on his feet and looking away, trying to wipe the unabashed ecstasy he just saw on her face and the way her long throat arched so elegantly from his mind... _Get your shavit together soldier,_ he growled in his head. _You're acting like a ryll-addled breeding stud. She’s your commander for kriff’s sake!_

He snapped his attention back when she bolted down the ramp with sudden ferocity. “Baroness?” he called, immediately following her.

Lylla pivoted to her right and came upon Aero and Mic crouched on the ground. They were surrounded by five opened carbonite pallets, with Aero carefully opening the last one. Inside the pallets lay the Force-binders. “Have they been damaged?” she demanded. “Are they operational?”

“Finding out now, Baroness,” Aero responded. He nodded at Mic. “Ok Mic, turn on the juice-- slowly, VERY slowly. These circuits are delicate as hair.”

“Here it comes.” Raising his tech gauntlet to his lenses, Mic pushed a lever slowly up the groove of the power supply. A low hum vibrated the air around them, then was instantly followed by a high-pitched electronic screech. 

“Kriffin’ hell, Mic!” Aero yelled. “I said SLOWLY!”

“Grunt, I only pushed it five percent!” Mic snapped back. “Calm yer nads!”

“Both of you shut up!” Kreel came to Lylla’s side. “Aero, what’s happening?”

Aero held his datapad up for the Sergeant. “The binder sensors are at Level Three. That means they’re picking up sub-photonic anomalies already. That means...I mean, I think it means--”

“They’re already sensing the Force,” Lylla finished for him. She looked up and around her. “They’re sensing the Force on this planet, it’s all around us.” An elated breath blew through her lips as they curved into a smile. “They’re working.” 

Their spat instantly forgotten, Aero and Mic exchanged relieved glances. “Looks like they are, Baroness!” said Mic.

“Well, we know they can sense the Force, but as far as counteracting it,” Aero said with a sigh, “we still don’t know.”

Lylla looked back down at a set of binders, and set her jaw. “We will now.” She pulled her cloak off her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. “Put them on me.”

All three SCAR troopers drew back in surprise. “Baroness,” Kreel murmured, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure. We’ve never had an adequate test subject. Until now.” She turned her hard stare at Aero and held both fists out in front of her. “Do it.”

Aero hesitated, but then nodded. Carefully, he lifted a set of binders, flicked the cuffs and collar open, then rose to his feet. When he came up on Lylla, he asked softy, “Are you ready?” Lylla nodded. He clamped the cuffs onto her wrists, then the collar around her neck. He turned over his shoulder. “Mic, juice, five percent like before.” Mic nodded, then pushed the lever. The hum returned. Lylla felt a vague current run through her arms.

From that moment on, it was all she felt. 

She wavered on her feet when she turned around to see all that had been shown to her decay into a flat reality. The air she breathed was just putrid now, hot and damp and swollen with the stench of sea and decaying fish in the sands. The ichor was gone, leaving nothing but oxidized sand and half-dead grasses. The auras around SCAR dissolved into the stifling air, the only light around them now was the glint off their armor under the red dwarf sun. But more than that, the presence was gone. The only heart that beat within her was her own. 

“Kest, Sarge,” Aero breathed, turning the datapad around. “Look at these levels.”

Kreel leaned in to read the screen. “Level 7. What does that mean?”

“The binders are adapting to the Force energy coming off the Baroness and counteracting it. According to the simulator data, they should only hit Level 7 if someone is actively using the Force, like in combat or telekinetic activity. The Baroness,” he turned to her, “is just standing there.”

Lylla’s glance flitted between the Sergeant and the pilot. She was not able to utilize the Force in any way she’d known Vader to, but she would try anyway. _*Are you there?*_ she called to the presence. She was answered only by the winds off the ocean. Panic began to quicken her breaths. _*Please, come back!*_

The more she called out to spectre, the more the world closed in. Her legs weakened under her. It felt like she was breathing through lead. Her vision tunnelled. Pain seared through her right shoulder, the one Baron Malifino had broken in one of his more sadistic moods. Same with several ribs on her left side, and the jaw he had fractured. Injuries long healed were becoming acute again.

She gaped at Kreel and tried to speak to him in his slave tongue, but not a single phrase came to her. Any attempt to bring up any of the information she had studied about the Nightsisters was met with a mental blank. She couldn’t remember their plan at all. All the knowledge she had acquired, her very intelligence was dripping away through the murky sieve that had become her mind.

“No…”” she barely managed to rasp. She fell to her knees, her face twisting in panicked anguish. Her voice came back with furious vengeance when she screamed, “TAKE THEM OFF!”

Aero dove to one knee and immediately unlatched the binders, yanking them off her. Lylla doubled over, gulping for air. Kreel dropped to a knee as well. “Baroness, breathe. Just breathe, they’re off.”

She threw all her effort into calming her breathing, in, out, deep, out. The pains of her old injuries vanished. She felt the talons stroke her hair once more and the air once again charged her entire being. Ichor-hewed arms wrapped around her and whispered in her ear, 

_*Good soldier.*_

A sob-filled laugh erupted from her throat.

“Ma’am.” Mic crouched down with his fellow troopers. “Are you alright?”

Lylla slowly raised her head. The illuminated spectrum of their life essence swirled and collided once again, with wisps and ribbons of the green ichor entangling all around them. Pushing herself onto her hands, she met every one of their concerned stares. “Well,” she grunted, “They work.” 

The troopers all exchanged glances. “That was...very brave of you, ma’am,” said Aero.

Lylla brushed the sand off herself as she raised to her knees. “It was necessary. We had to know.”

“Can you stand?” asked Kreel, offering her a hand. She nodded and allowed his assistance. 

Mic picked up her wrap and shook it out before handing it to her. She nodded her thanks to him just as he asked, “Permission to ask a question, ma’am?” She eyed him for a moment before nodding again and donning her wrap. Mic straightened. “Did the planet stop talking to you when you had the binders on? Is that what made you sick?”

Lylla had to admit the insight caught her off guard a bit. She met his eyes as she adjusted her wrap. “Very observant, trooper.” But it didn’t make me sick. It made me...normal. Like you, she added silently. She raised a brow. “So you believe that the planet is guiding me?”

“I believe what I see, ma’am,” he answered simply. “Even if I don’t understand it.” 

The grinding of gears and metal behind them broke the conversation off. They all turned to see the entire back hold of the _Mace_ lift up and unfold into a huge ramp. The screech of durasteel against durasteel was joined by the snorts, brays and groans of the eight enormous beasts inside. Lylla swallowed hard. They were ghastly looking things, two meters at the shoulder with blunt heads and tapered tails thick as tree-trunks. Their odor wafted across the landing site right into her nose. But even through their oily olive-hued hides, their auras burst all around them, intermingling with Cav’s and Zuke’s as they finished securing their saddles.

Kreel tapped his tac-net. “Misty, report.”

“Still clear, Sarge. No sign of hostiles. Maybe landing here was a good idea. Too far to from the Village to see us and mount a defense in time.”

Kreel glanced at Lylla. “Maybe it was,” he murmured. “Keep lookout until we get the dewies loaded. Shrap.”

”Yeah Sarge?”

“Come back and load up.”

“Got it, Sarge!” Off in the distance, Shrap slung his rifle to join his flamethrower across his back and trotted back to the landing site.

“Aero, Mic,” the Sergeant said, “every trooper gets a binder set. Keep on top of any potential damage.”

“Right Sarge!” Aero motioned to Zuke, who held the reins of two dewbacks, leading them down the ramp. “Zuke, bring Mic’s and mine over here!”

As Zuke led the two beasts over to them, Lylla backed away, giving them a wide berth, watching them with slit eyes. Kreel stepped to her side. “You said before, the planet was affecting them. Well, Cav’s shot them up with enough Dipill to down a Wookiee for a week. No need to be afraid, Baroness.”

“I’m not afraid,” Lylla snapped quietly.

Her shallow breaths and the nervous tugs at her gloves said otherwise. “They’re harmless. Insectivores, they don’t eat anything bigger than a spatta-bug. They’re docile, durable, and adaptive to a variety of climates. That’s why the Imperial Forces uses them as pack animals. Best thing Tatooine ever contributed to the galaxy.”

“Well, maybe not the best thing,” she said with a strange smirk.

“I don’t follow you, ma’am.”

“Never mind.” She heaved a sigh. “So, how do I ride one of these things?”

“Tug reins left to go left, right to go right, and pull both back to stop. Really, they do most of the work. Easier than a landspeeder.” Kreel hit his tac-net again. “Misty, come on down, get saddled up.”

“Right, Sarge,” Misty responded, swinging his rifle around his back and climbing down the hull rungs. He joined the other SCAR troops as they tossed and secured their packs, weapons, and the Force-binder pallets onto their dewback mounts.

Kreel gestured toward them. “Baroness, you ready?” Lylla drew a deep breath to stoke her confidence and tightly nodded. They both set forth toward the dewbacks. “Bring her over.” Cav came toward them, Lylla’s dewback’s reins in hand. “Now when you mount, you wanna go from the front and grab the saddle horn on the side, that’ll give you enough momentum to swing your free leg up and over the saddle. Put your near-foot in the stirrups--” 

Kreel’s instruction was loudly interrupted when Lylla’s mount braked herself in her tracks and let out a deafening, terrified howl. Cav grabbed her reins with both hands and planted his feet in the sand, but he was still no match for the beast’s far greater strength. The dewback screamed and thrashed against his hold, eyes huge and horrified and targeted right on Lylla.

“CAV!” Kreel shouted, “Control that animal!!”

“I’m trying Sarge!” Cav wrapped the reins around his forearm and pulled down with everything he had, but Nini grew only more panicked and violent.

“What the hell’s wrong with it?!” Misty bit out. The other beasts became nervous now, shifting from leg to leg and whimpering while their riders yanked their reins and attempted to calm them down.

“Troops, hold you mounts! SARGE!” Cav yelled, “the electro-prod on my belt, get it and hit her in the hind quarters!”

Kreel broke into a run toward Cav, but in that instant the enormous animal threw all of her mass into a spin, hurling Cav to the ground and slamming Kreel with her tail. Kreel was thrown through the air to crash hard on the ship’s ramp. 

The crazed dewback then spun around and charged straight toward Lylla, its lips curled back into a snarl. Lylla scrambled to back away but the sands were too soft under her feet, and she fell back hard. The dewback let out a shriek that pierced her eardrums, and reared up on its hind legs over her, blotting out the sky. Lylla screamed--

In one move, Kreel rolled onto his side, pulled his sidearm and fired a stun bolt into the dewback’s hind. The screech that escaped the beast sent feedback through every trooper’s tac-nets. It twisted from the blast, then landed on all fours and bolted toward the dunes, dragging her numbed leg behind her.

Kreel scrambled to his feet. “Misty! Take her down!”

“Zuke, hold my mount!” Misty tossed his reins to Zuke and swung his rifle back into his hands, falling to one knee and taking the shot. The blast hit Nini again, but it hardly slowed her stampede. She’d made it to the dunes and scrambled up the sandy slope to the top--

Right into the jaws of a Rancor that launched over the dune in an explosion of sand and roars.

Nini’s screams bellowed all the way back to the beach. The entire party, human and dewback alike, froze in their places. The black-pelted Rancor, nearly twice its prey’s size, seized the dewback’s throat in its teeth and shook it till its neck snapped. The dewback’s screams died with it, and it hung limp in the Rancor’s mouth before the monster threw it vast meters to its side. Rearing up on its haunches, the Rancor reared its head and roared, a gruesome yawp of triumph that filled the very sky.

“Fuckin’ mother of moons,” Zuke muttered through the tac-net.

“Misty!” Kreel barked. “You gave the all clear!”

“It was Sarge! I swear, it was clear, there was nothing fucking out there!”

Lylla pushed herself up and rolled onto her hip, gaping at the distant beast. It stood, a magnificent spectre, silhouetted against a crimson sky where she saw stars go nova millions of lightyears behind it. The red dwarf sunlight glimmered off the Rancor’s slick black hide, the sheen undulating around its massive shoulders. It then lowered itself into a hunch and stared at them, dragging its gaze across the assembled party until it landed on Lylla. Even from that distance, she could see its eyes glowing with the garish green of Dathomir’s spirit ichor. 

The beast began treading down the dune with slow and wild grace, tossing clouds of sand in its wake, its ichor-lit eyes honed on Lylla.

“Gods and hells,” she rasped as her lip trembled in awe, “look at you. You’re beautiful...”

Kreel clamored down the ramp and rushed to Lylla. “Baroness, go back in the ship! We’ll--”

“I’m NOT going anywhere!” she bit back, never taking her eyes off the encroaching Rancor.

Kreel churned out an exasperated growl-- there was no time to argue with her. “SCAR, set blasters to kill, take that thing out!” His order was met with every trooper grabbing their weapon--rifle, flamethrower, cannon blaster, sidearm-- and aiming it at the oncoming creature--

“BELAY THAT ORDER!” Lylla roared. 

They all stopped, lowering their weapons and gawking at her. Launching herself back onto her feet, she whirled around and got right into Kreel’s mask. “I command this mission, I’m the one in charge, and I’m done having you treat me like some helpless Core World debutante! You and your men will FALL BACK RIGHT NOW!” She pulled a hard breath before she bellowed, “DO YOU HEAR ME, SERGEANT KREEL??”

Adrenaline exploded through the Sergeant. His duty to obey orders warred with the impulse to physically drag the Baroness back to the ship for her own gods-damned safety for kriff’s sake! But when he watched the pupils of her eyes narrow once again into dragon’s slits, he was hit with an unbridled power that surged from her through every seam in his armor. He took a step back and grunted, “Loud and clear, Baroness Sa’thraxxx.”

Lylla pulled herself to her full height and glared at him. “Do not interfere unless I tell you to.” She turned and took a few steps toward the oncoming Rancor when Kreel grabbed her arm. She swung back around, intent on unleashing another tirade on him, when he thrust his sidearm into her hand.

“At least take this,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Please.”

She glared down at the blaster, then shoved it back. “No, Sergeant. I won’t need it.” She yanked her arm from his grip and started marching toward the encroaching Rancor.

“What the hell is she doing?” whispered Shrap through the tac-net.

Cav dove into a bag on his dewie’s saddle, yanked out a pair of binocs and aimed them right at the Rancor. “It’s not charging her, body language is alert but not aggressive, so…” Every trooper heard him gasp through the tac-net, “Holy shavit…”

Kreel turned to Cav, still rocked from the Baroness’s reprimand. “Report, Cav,” he snapped.

Cav lowered the nocs, shook his head as if to clear it, then raised them to his mask again. “Sarge, that Rancor… it’s wearing TACK.”

“What?! Cav, bring the nocs over here!” Cab broke into a trot and tossed the binocs to Kreel when within range. Kreel caught them in the air and brought them to his lenses. Cav was right-- the beast coming toward them was strapped with a saddle and a bridle around its snout. Reins dangled and swayed to the rhythm of his pounding steps. “(Fuck me runnin’),” he cursed in his slave tongue.

“What the hell is going on here, Sarge?” Cav panted.

“I don’t know, Cav.” Kreel lowered the binocs. “But I think she does.”

Sand sank under Lylla’s feet with every trudge she took, meeting the Rancor’s rhythm step for step. It stopped just a few paces from her, its ribcage heaving with breath through its flared nostrils. Lylla halted too. Whatever fear she had blew away with the ocean’s wind when she felt the heart of Dathomir pulse from its chest through hers once again. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered, that blissed smile once again ghosting her lips. She raised a hand toward it and said in Dathomiri, “Iki ma’tok (My friend)?” She brought the hand to the bruises on her neck. “Ika ekann nu’ traka (I wear your mark).”

The Rancor sat back on its haunches and cocked his giant head at her. It dipped its short front arms into a submissive gesture, and gave a her a slow, gentle blink. It took a step toward her, then another and another, until its snout was just a meter from her. The monster’s nostrils gaped and shrank, taking in her scent, and blinked again, the ichor strobing in its eyes.

“Jhae, ken’tat ika. Ma’tok. (Yes, you know me. Friend).” She stepped to him, one measured foot in front of another, until she was close enough to lay a tender palm on its snout. “Ma’tok.”

The beast curled its lips back, revealing teeth the size of her hands, still dripping with the dewback’s blood. But his eyes drooped again, and he let out a contented groan. The Rancor slowly lowered its enormous bulk down until he lay flat on his belly and laid its jaw on her foot. Its purr vibrated through her boot all the way into her chest.

She crouched down and ran her hand over its snout and ridged head, sweetly whispering to it. “Jhae, aka bwooa (Yes, we ride).” Moving slowly, Lylla rose and walked along its side, keeping her hand on his short-furred pelt until she came upon the exquisitely-carved thick leather saddle on its back. Even prone on the ground, the Rancor’s shoulder came to her eye level. Stretching her arms up, she grasped the saddle horn and sank her foot into the stirrup. She pulled her weight up and threw her leg up and over to plant herself in the saddle. The beast moaned and purred, and she leaned down and whispered into its ear-hole, “Dla (Up).” It rose off the sands onto his hind legs, lifting her many meters into the air. 

Lylla gasped at the sheer power of the beast underneath her. Leaning over its neck, she grasped for the reins, reminding herself of Kreel’s instruction. “Tug left for left, right for right…” She knit her brows. “How do I make it go…?” Purely on instinct, she lightly kicked its flanks with her heels. The Rancor let out a satisfied groan and lurched forward. The action startled her at first, but after it took a few lumbering steps forward, she found herself adapting quickly, shifting her weight from hip to hip in accord with its utter weight and rhythm.

SCAR Squadron watched the Baroness ride her Rancor mount back to them, shocked into absolute silence. When she reached the breach of the landing site, the other dewbacks began to twitch against their held reins and nervously whine. Lylla narrowed her white eyes and barked, “ENOUGH!” 

They obeyed, shrinking down into submissive crouches.

Now Kreel had never been a religious man. Even when the various superstitions permeated the gladiator corps of Chagar IX, he never put faith in anything but himself, even as a child. But as he took in the sight of Baroness Sa’thraxxx atop that massive black-pelted beast, clad in her armored breastplate and cloak, her scarlet hair blown by the ocean winds and her white eyes burning, he swore that he was looking on Ennaio, the Chagarian Goddess of Carnage herself.

Lylla looked down at the SCAR troopers. And grinned. “Well? Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to get my personal guard?”

The troops all glanced at each other. Finally, Zuke threw his bulk at his dewback mount and giddily climbed into its saddle with the speed of someone half his size. “I’M IN!” 

The others soon joined Zuke in his enthusiasm, whooping through their helmets and clamoring up their mounts. Kreel moved toward his own dewback, laying a hand on the saddle horn, still unable to tear his eyes away from her.

Lylla prodded the Rancor toward him, leaning down when she was close enough. “Don’t worry Sergeant,” she said, that strange smile once again curving her full lips. “The Fanged God has blessed our hunt.” 

With that, she kicked the Rancor’s flanks and steered it away toward the dunes and their impending destiny.

***

**Author's Note:**

> When I first tried to post this, something corrupted in the text and it wouldn't post in HTML, so I had to go back and do it all manually. If there is a glitch here and there, please let me know and I'll fix it!


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